


Race the Train!

by michaeljagger



Category: Thomas the Tank Engine & Friends, Thomas the Tank Engine - All Media Types
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-09-01
Updated: 2017-09-01
Packaged: 2018-12-22 14:05:48
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 965
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11968959
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/michaeljagger/pseuds/michaeljagger
Summary: The Skarloey Railway is hosting a special event. Trust Sir Handel to take it too seriously.





	Race the Train!

**Author's Note:**

> This is my attempt at a Railway Series-style story. 'Race the Train' is real event that takes place on the Talyllyn Railway, the place that inspired Awdry to create the Skarloey Railway. Hope you like it! (Also visit the Talyllyn)

Outside the little engines’ shed, early one morning, a group of people in peculiar clothes and striped shoes were bending and stretching.

                Peter Sam watched them curiously. “Whatever are they doing?”

                “Keeping me awake,” Duncan muttered.

                “Skarloey,” Peter Sam said, “whatever are they doing? Look at their clothes. D’you think it’s another Preservation thingie?”

                Skarloey frowned. “I don’t think people dressed like that in _my_ day. Look lively, now – here’s the Thin Controller.”

                The Thin Controller smiled at them. “Hello, chaps,” he said. “Now, we’ll be hosting a Special Event today.”

                Peter Sam squeaked. “Does it have anything to do with – ”

                “Shh!” said Skarloey.

                The Thin Controller continued:

                “Each of you will have the chance to pull a special slow train. The people over there are called ‘athletes’.” The athletes were still stretching, but they took a moment to wave at the little engines. “They’ll follow your trains, and try and beat you to the next station.” He winked. “They’ll soon see what our engines can do.”

 

The engines thought this a great lark. Even Duncan found the idea amusing. Only Sir Handel was offended.

                “Fancy these people thinking they can outrun me!” he spluttered. “Me – an Express Engine! It’s an insult. I shan’t do it.”

                “You aren’t a real express engine,” said Duncan. He was getting ready to pull the first special train, and felt pleased with himself. “ _Real_ express engines are much bigger than you.”

                “And you,” Sir Handel snapped, but no-one heard him for the Guard had just blown his whistle. Duncan started to puff out of the station – and then so did the athletes.

 

Sir Handel still felt cross later that morning. He had just come up from the quarry to see Duncan approaching the top station.

                “What an awful shirker,” he sneered. “Look, they’re getting ahead of him.”

                “Only while he builds up a steam,” Peter Sam soothed. “Anyway, it doesn’t matter really. It’s only a game.”

                “A game!” Sir Handel was outraged. “Maybe to silly little engines like you – but _I’ll_ show them what a real engine can do.”

                “But I thought you didn’t want to take part,” said Peter Sam innocently. “What was it you said? That it was an insult?”

                Sir Handel ignored this.

 

He was soon overexcited. It was a good thing that his turn came next after Duncan’s, for he could barely keep still even while the next group of athletes lined up.

                “I’ll soon show them,” he hissed. His Driver had to be stern.

                “Behave,” he warned.

                After what felt like an age to Sir Handel, the Guard’s whistle finally blew. He wanted to run off immediately, but he couldn’t until he’d built up steam.

                Eventually, though, he started to run nicely. The athletes became smaller and smaller behind him. Sir Handel grimaced.

                “Fancy that – outrun me! Fancy that – outrun me!” he huffed as he rattled down the track.

                Now, if Sir Handel was a sensible engine, and if he hadn’t been so offended by the athletes’ game, he might have noticed the pain in his boiler, and he might have asked his Driver to stop and check him over.

                As it was, Sir Handel thought he could see the athletes catching up, and wanted to go even faster.

                “Outrun me! Outrun me! I’ll soon show them!”

                The next station was coming in sight. “If you don’t calm down, we’ll overshoot the platform,” said his Driver. He was trying to slow down, but Sir Handel didn’t want to. He didn’t want to, even though he hurt quite a lot and was starting to feel something rattle.

                “Come ON! Come ON! Come – ooofff…”

                Something had burst and flown off. Sir Handel couldn’t see for steam; nor could his Driver and Fireman, but they stopped him very carefully all the same.

                “You silly engine!” gasped the Fireman. The Driver stepped down to look.

                “Well, I never.” He started to laugh. Then the Fireman came down, and started to laugh too. Sir Handel couldn’t see what was so very funny; what he could see, now the steam had cleared, was that the athletes had caught up and were looking at him curiously.

                “You’ve only burst your safety valve,” said his Driver. “Just like a big Express engine.”

                “High spirits,” added the Fireman.

                “Oh,” said Sir Handel, feeling humiliated. He looked at the athletes. “I’m sorry I spoilt your race,” he said quietly.

                The athletes were kind. “Never mind,” they said, “we can have another when you’re better.”

                “Thank you,” Sir Handel found himself saying; though he knew they wouldn’t. The Thin Controller would never allow it now. He hoped Peter Sam wasn’t close by.

 

The Thin Controller visited him at the Works.

                “I hope you’ve learned your lesson,” he said severely. “I ought to make you miss the next Special Event as a punishment.”

                Sir Handel looked at his buffers. “Yes, Sir.”

                “However – ”

                “Sir?”

                The Thin Controller smiled. “I spoke to your athletes this morning. They told me they’d promised you another race – ” He held up a hand. “ – once you are better. And _only_ then.”

                Sir Handel gasped. “Me, Sir? Really, Sir? But I was so… um…”

                “Rude,” said the Thin Controller helpfully. “But they seem rather fond of you. And I think you deserve another chance, too.”

 

Sir Handel wanted to leave for his race right away, but he was a wiser engine now. He waited patiently for the workmen to be finished with him; and once they had, he really did feel much better.

                The other engines were pleased to have him home. Peter Sam teased him when the athletes came back.

                “Mind how you go,” he said, “don’t blow yourself up again.”

                Sir Handel laughed. “Of course not,” he said cheerily, “it’s only a game, after all!”

                (I wonder if he really thinks so!)


End file.
